A bay is made of words
With depth fathomless
And at the pit is heaped
The vestiges of sufferance and life

Abandoned by the earth
On his shoulder did he keep
The tiny bundle of rags
And set on the journey

Torn fabrics revealed
Too much of skinny skeleton
On the way
Whatever he saw with his eyes
Wrapped his staring anatomy

Gathering the dried pale leaves
To make fire against the cold waves
Flames flickered on the tunes of wind
Tear drops frozen into ice balls
Burnt the skin of his chick bones

A blinding smoke enveloped him about
What a warmth it was
He whirled about and about
A heavenly ride.

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